


Will Someone Not Hold Me, Because I Am Tired Of Fighting

by JANDS (RainbowTentacle_Sama), RainbowTentacle_Sama



Category: Homestuck
Genre: In Heat!Karkat, M/M, MOST LIKELY TO BE ABANDONED, On Hiatus, Possible Dub-Con, Possible Rough Sex In Later Chapters, Possiblle Violence, SORRY TO READERS, TRAIN WRECK OF A STORY, sober!Gamzee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowTentacle_Sama/pseuds/JANDS, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowTentacle_Sama/pseuds/RainbowTentacle_Sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trolls go into heat at least a week/week and a half on average in Alternia. This isn't a problem for them, as they are used to it; unlike us humans.</p><p>However, this cannot be said for Karkat Vantas. In fact, it is quite the opposite, seeing as he is in heat seven out of the twelve human months of the year.</p><p>But, at least we know the reason he is so angry all the time now...no? </p><p>[<b><span class="u">Disclaimer:</span></b> Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie. Not me. Unfortunately. Accept maybe in my heart.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Waves Of Motherfucking Blasphemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING TO ALL NEW AND/OR NEW READERS**  
>  This story is under construction. At this point I'm just trying to clean it up and then I'll work on the few drafts I have left, and clean them up, and then post them, and that will probably be it for this story. 
> 
> Sorry to all readers, especially those that have already read this and liked it. TuT
> 
>  **IMPORTANT NOTICE!**  
>  I'm taking this story up for an old friend of mine (JANDS, AKA BleedingJoyAndSorrow).   
> I'll try to clean it up and post the few drafts that they have left.   
> We apologize for the story most likely going to be ending abandoned. We hope to at least leave it open ended. Or maybe a cliff hanger? Leave it up to all of you guys' imagination?

You gasp. You sob.

Your body arches again and you bite your lip to muffle a scream.

You hate this time of the month so much.

You  _loathe_ your stupid, mutant blood for putting you in this _fucking **situation**_.

You can't ever have anything considered halfway decent in your life. Not _once_ in your _entire fucking life_ **,** have you had anything half-way decent.

Nothing good will _ever_ come your way.

Something even  _slightly_ relating to "decent" would not even spare you a glance before running full sprint in the opposite direction.

Forget about anything "decent" coming your way _easily_.

The thought would have made you laugh, had you not been sore all over and in a great amount of pain at that exact moment.

You are currently sprawled out across your bed and gripping the sheets like a lifeline. Your legs are squeezed tightly together, rubbing against each other for friction without your conscious consent.

Your brow is furrowed, the bags under your eyes more predominant, and a hazed gleam glossing over the greys of your eyes.

Fat, salty droplets roll down your cheeks and the sides of your face, mingling with the countless translucent red tears rolling down the flushed surface.

Your chest heaves with every breath, and your ears sear with heat.

You aren't looking, but you're sure that your grub scars are flushed the brightest candy red that they can possibly manage, begging for attention.

You're burning up, and you moan, the sound desperate and drawn out and terribly long in the silence of your hive.

You can't even find it in yourself to give a fuck -Fuck being embarrassed! Who cares about that shit anyway?- because you are just that far gone.

It's not like anyone could hear you. No one was around for miles -besides your stoned moirail who lived longer than was worth mentioning due north- except you, and your lusus. When he was hive, that is.

However, you're certain CrabDad left quite a while ago, and hasn't come back yet. Not that that surprised you anymore, after all.

It always happened around this time of the month. He'd patrol around the borders of your lawn ring; leaving you to your privacy, yet keeping guard while you were most vulnerable.

Your lusus had already given up on you obtaining a matesprit or kismesis -like any other normal troll- to help deal with these situations. Your mutant blood color would be a dead give away, and you'd be killed immediately.

No. No; you'd rather be in indescribable pain for the rest of your life than have said life be taken from you. So, being the loving and caring lusus he was, CrabDad would insist on patrolling day and night, each and every sweep. You don't know what you'll do when -in two sweeps- you finally hit your tenth sweep and he'll have to leave to go raise another grub.

So, now every human month that you are in your heat, he leaves two days before the start of your cycle, and comes back two afterwords.

Since you are in heat seven out of twelve months in the year, it is needless to say that you don't see your lusus very much anymore.

Not that you could, or would, give a fuck at the moment, because you are currently too busy fantasizing about the ablution trap head, and how good of a friend it could be to your nook. It had felt amazing when you finally discovered the simple joy that was your ablution trap head a few perigrees ago.

But, no, you can't. You _won't_ resort back to that. You will fucking _stick with you resolve._

You are tired of being so emotionally charged and stressed all the time.

You just want to go a couple human months - ~~or the rest of your sweeps, but, then again, you'll take whatever you can get~~ \- without having to feel horny all the fucking time. Like a _normal_ **fucking**   _troll_  for once.

But, oh hell **fucking** _no_!

No, _no_! We can't let Karkat have just  _one fucking thing_ that doesn't _**completely**_ ruin his life, now _can_ we? Oh no, no, _no. Absolutely not._

You are Alternia's little _bitch._ Whatever deities are out there are probably rolling on the floor and laughing at you.

Of course, this was just another consequence of your stupid, freakish mutant colored blood flowing through you veins.

For once in your life, you would greatly appreciate it if some deity would take pity on you, and let you  _not_ be a fucking horny-as-all-fuck-troll-who-humps-everything-he-sees _for just **o _nc_ e**!_

That's all! Just _once_!

Could you just go _one measly_ little  _month_ without the urge to hump everything within sight?

_Please?_

Just _once?_

...  
...  
...  
...  
...  
...  
...

Fucking _silence_.

Nope. You didn't think so.

 _Of-fucking-course_!

Just another blessing from the _merciful_ gods in the life of Karkat, Ladies and Gentlemen!

A-Round-Of- _Fucking_ -Applause!

Somewhere in the middle of your rage, you had become comfortable enough -slipping back into the reassuring veil of anger- that you hadn't noticed your muscles relaxing slightly, your whole body focusing desperately on this new emotion, hoping to get some relief from the constant onslaught of overwhelming sexual frustration.

Relaxing back into the bed and letting your mind fog over with anger, you hadn't noticed when you stopped clenching the sheets in your hands. You hadn't noticed your hands slipping down your front, skimming down your chest, brushing oh-so-very-lightly over your grub scars, and then slipping under the waistband of your shorts and pushing them down around your knees.

You squirm on the bed, cheeks flaming an even brighter candy red, bulge unsheathed and wiggling and twisting in on itself on your stomach, nook having soaked through your shorts and underwear a long time ago.

But, _no_ , you're still determined to wait this out.

You  **will** wait it out!

It has to go away _eventually_ right?

_Right?_

And, maybe, just maybe, if you  _do_ manage to somehow wait it out this time, then just  _maybe_ it won't be as bad next time.

Your resolve refreshed, you gulp and re-grip the sheets, determined to not let go, to wait this out to the end.

Or, at the very least, wait it out as long as you possibly can.


	2. Karkat Vantas Vs. His Bulge Vs. Snuggle Planes

You ride the waves of your heat, each new onslaught making you feel as if someone had inserted a hook into your abdomen and was pulling on it with super-troll strength, releasing it for a while -just enough for you to barely gather your thoughts- before pulling on it again, repeating the cycle over and over and over and over and over and _over_....

You are just about to reach a breaking point again, your bulge and nook almost painfully numb now from your neglect.

You're about to let go of the sheets, succumbing to the idea of finally touching your bulge and/or nook, when you hear it.

A ding.

Someone is trolling you.

You can't tell whether you are grateful ~~-almost desperately so-~~ for the interruption, or majorly pissed at the person who was invading in your very personal moments.

Seeing as how you still want to stick to your resolve, you snap your legs together, feeling your budgle slip down between them to thrust itself in and out of the crevice between your thighs, and attempt to stand up, predictably falling back down, tangled in your mating platform's sheets.

Your computer dings again, twice in a row, and you struggle harder with the snuggle planes wrapped around your legs.

Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!

You groan loudly.  You swear that the whole universe loves to see you in agony! How the hell do snuggle planes so thoroughly trap a person other wise?

You feel like the universe and everything in it is screaming, "......die of sexual frustration, Karkat Vantas! Die! No matter how much you self pail, it will always be there! Die!"

Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!

You scream again, frustrated and maxed out to your limit as your computer keeps dinging.

God! **Just**. **Fucking. Damn it** -. _Yes!_

Haha! You did it! Like a pile of snuggle planes could ever keep _you_ down! Take _that_ , snuggle planes!

Triumphantly you attempt to stand up again, and promptly fall back down again, though thankfully on the snuggle planes, so your fall was cushioned.

Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!

"God, I fucking get it already! I'm coming, I'm coming! ~~(You have a brief, snide thought of, "I _wish_ I was cumming!" Before you push the thought away.)~~ Hold your fucking hoofbeasts!"

You absolutely do not crawl over to your computer.

It's not like your legs felt like they were made of jelly; too shaky to stand on.

Nope. No way in hell.

You miraculously ~~(You feel a brief wave of fondness, but smother it)~~ , somehow, magically, float over to your computer to answer the annoying troll pestering you.

You float down into your chair.

There is absolutely no crawling and shaky knees as you attempt to climb into a chair that a wriggler could climb into with minimal difficulty.

You float down into it. Yes, that is _exactly_ what happened.

No embarrassing moments and falling flat on your shame globes numerous times attempting to climb into a chair that you have literally sat in hundreds of times before. Nope, none of that is happening here.

Anyway, turning back to the problem at hand, you reboot your laptop and wait for the screen to blink back on.

When it does, you save and close the numerous tabs of fanfiction and romantic-comedies blogs you had open until you finally come across the trollian tab.

You shift in your seat, already exhausted, but feeling another wave -of heat or the aforementioned exhaustion, you can not even tell yourself- washing over you.  You think about who the fuck could be trolling you, and how much more shit you're going to have to deal with on top of everything else today.

Why can't you just have normal friends? Or quadrants, for that matter.

You snort. Yeah, we've already established the "nothing-comes-easy-for-Karkat-Vantas" rule. Like anything would come easily _now_.

You swallow and grip you mouse more tightly, moaning as yet another wave hits you.

You're sure your cheeks are blazing, and your chest is heaving, sweat running into your eyes, but you shake your head and try to focus back on the screen.

You squint, trying to make out the symbol on the screen, unable to accurately trace the sign and decipher the color.

You are pretty damn sure that it is either blue or purple, and you think the sign resembles something like a lopy "M' or "N".

Great, so it could be a great number of many assholes who you don't feel like dealing with.

You have a brief thought as your back arches on another wave, once again wishing you had at least one of your pailing quadrants filled. At _least_ you could have someone who could talk dirty to you over the internet, and help you through this.

You groan again, a slightly wheezing, breathy whine escaping your mouth, feeling over all a little hysterical.

You blindly move your mouse around, randomly clicking on the screen in frustration.

You groan, a sob simultaneously escaping your mouth, and give up, for now, at least.

Your hand desperately shoots down to your bulge, actually grasping it since you had pulled down your pants earlier.

Maybe that was part of the reason why you couldn't get up earlier? You muse idly, hand roughly tugging at your bulge. Perhaps they had still been -still are- wrapped around your ankles. You couldn't really remember; your memory was fuzzy.

You're whining, gasping, and writhing in your chair, legs spread as wide as they can go with your pants around your mid-thighs, nook soaked and clenching.

"Mnm-mmm! Mhhhmmhh....!"

You bulge twists and winds itself around and through your fingers, desperately seeking friction, and you happily grant it, almost completely delirious in your rising heat.

You moan, the sound loud and slow, and your fingers itch, wishing to rub your nook, but you keep them in place, seeing as it wouldn't help anyway, as it would only frustrate you further. The heat would only come back again, and worse.

Maybe, you muse, if it doesn't relent even the _slightest_ bit in the next hour ~~-hell even the next thirty minutes or so~~ \- you'll try to use that "toy" you brought quiet a while ago.

You snort. Not that it would work, of course, just like the last three dozen times you tried to use it on your smaller-than-should-be-fucking-possible nook. Just another perk to mutant blood. ~~(It was fucking frustrating, thinking about it. Even if you'd managed to get a concupiscent quadrant filled, your partner would have to be willing to file there claws down, and help you stretch yourself for penetration, which, other trolls actually on the hemospectrum don't have to do.)~~

You bulge is straining against your hand, still too sensitive and post-orgasmic to orgasm again, so you start firmly rubbing it, almost smashing the length in your hand, trying to, at the very least, force another orgasm from it.

You feel it building up, no more than a sudden little mountain of pleasure to climb, when your computer starts altering you that someone is trolling you again.


	3. The Romance Expert

Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!

You cry, tears once more rolling down your cheeks, and you scream out in frustration but keep rubbing your bug;e -even the claws pricking up and down its length felt good at this point; it shouldn't take you too long, hopefully, to orgasm again.

You start slamming your other hand down on the keyboard of your laptop, both to diverge a little bit of the sensations going on in your more personal spots and to -hopefully- get the dialogue box to open.

God, if you could just  _cum_ right now…!

If you could just stop being in heat -period- would be great, too.

You also wouldn't mind having a kismesis or matespritship to help you deal with this shit, but you already established that that is not going to happen.

You also wouldn't mind having someone to take your mind off of this, but, which of your friends would you even go to? Besides, even if you did tell any of your friends, some would probably laugh at you and take advantage of your vulnerable state to satisfy their curiosity of your blood color.  Terezi was a bad idea all together; after the matespritship-that-never-actually-happened thing, it was just too awkward to talk to her, especially about something so personal. Vriska, Equius, Feferi, and Eridan you cross off right away. That's just too much shit for you to juggle on top of your own. Tavros, Sollux, Aradia, and Kanaya were off the list too, because that'd just be fucking awkward, too. That left you with two choices: Gamzee and Nepeta.

Besides, if you did decide to tell one of them what was going on, Nepeta...God. You guess you could try to gain help from her, but...just thinking about her, her optimistic attitude and hyper-activeness, make you feel a bit depressed and lethargic, so you scratch her off the list, for the moment.

Gamzee would try to calm you down, being your moirail, and wouldn't be effective in helping you.  Besides, even if you did tell any of your friends, some would probably laugh at you and take advantage of your vulnerable state to satisfy their curiosity of your blood color.

For God's sake you couldn't even ask your shitty moirail.

Not only would it just be embarrassing as _fuck_ , and  _wrong_ to ask your moirail to _physically help you_ , but you also cannot imagine him talking dirty to you over the net or instructing you on what to do.

God, does your moirail even know what pailing **is**?!

And, no only that, but he's also a Subjugglator.

A pan-rotted, slime-eating, goofy, and high as fuck -and  _ever so_  pitiful- clown from a long line of murderous, strictly religious subjugglators.

Telling one of them -even if it was your moirail- your mutant blood color? Immediate culling.

Telling one, "Oh, hey, I'm in heat pretty much five times out of six in a year, and I'm so fucking horny that you wouldn't be able to  _believe_ it, and I am also a mutant, but, hey, will you come help me with a quick romp to make the painful throbbing in my nook go away?" You don't even want to imagine the reaction.

You shudder and try not to think about murderous clowns raping and torturing you, before finally killing you, as your bugle gives another desperate writher and wiggle.

 _No_ , you're better off just suffering through this alone. Just like it always has been, and it always will be.

~~_(You mean, what kid of Pity God can't shoot himself with his own Pity arrows? What kind of romance expert can't take his own advice? Use his own wisdom?)_ ~~

Besides, who wants to talk about your problems? You are usually viewed two ways by your friends: the loud mouth idiot and the romance expert. So must usually just contacted you when they wanted amusement or needed advice. What _else_ would they be talking to you about? Nothing.

You mean, why not? You were the romance and quadrant expert, right? It's not like you didn't want to talk about anything else. Romance and bitching was _all_ you were interested in.

It's not like in any type of universe you could ever be so sick of the words "quadrants", "romance", and "pailing" that if you never heard the words again, it would be too soon, right? It's not like _you'd_ ever need advice and help.

Because you're _just_ the romance expert.

The _loud, obnoxious, romantical expert._

The one nobody wants to be around.

The loud mouth.

The ugly-attitude troll.

The short, short-tempered guy.

The _disgusting mutant_.

 


	4. Your Thinkpan Left You An Altered Message

You're interrupted from your fragmented train of thoughts when your computer alerts you to another message from the troll pestering you.

"God!"

Hand still held captive by your insistence bulge, you click on the mouse with the other hand, tapping the mouse so it will hopefully open that damn dialogue box.

Somehow, you were finally lucky enough to get the damn thing open, and bring it as close to your face as you can get without it falling off the desk, hand still fondling your weeping tentacle. You moan loudly, twisting the tip of your tentacle.

You're not really paying attention to the words, hand leaving the mouse as another wave hits. Both hands are now playing with your slit; one rubbing the very base of your bulge and the other roughly squeezing the tip; you whine at such a pitch that it sounds like a squeal.

You eyes are locked on the screen, seeing words that aren't really there, a rather desperate attempt from your mind to get some relief.

You brain constantly fluctuates the color -blue, teal, violet, fuchsia, indigo, purple- but the writing looks startlingly familiar, and you are sure that normally you would have been -literally- sickened by what your brain had come up with, but right now? You don't give a fuck.

You do not give one solitary _fuck_ , as long as this person gets you _off_.

Your hand is slipping dangerously down, and you fail at not not letting a finger slip into your sopping nook. You turn back to the screen, eyes hooded, arousal past screamingly obvious, lick your lips, and read.

\--terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] \--

TC: HeY bRo  
TC: What are you all motherfucking up and doing?  
TC: Watchin those rom-coms of yours?  
TC: Hmmmmmmmm?  
TC: :o)  
TC: Be at any sicknasty parts yet, bro?  
TC: ;o)  
TC: Hmmmm?  
TC: Come on, brooooooooo  
TC: Don't be at making me ruin the motherfuckin miracles  
TC: I'll motherfucking do it  
TC: bro  
TC: brooo  
TC: brooooooooooo  
TC: Fine  
TC: I'll motherfucking ruin them  
TC: not cool at what's to make a brother all up and motherfucking ruin his miracles bro  
TC: :o(  
TC: But I still now what you're doing bro  
TC: I bet youre watching at one of those _salacious_ motherfucking parts huh?  
TC: ;oP  
TC: You know  
TC: the ones what get my bro all up and being flustered and blushing and shit during a movie?  
TC: The ones what you look so motherfucking adorable trying at hiding your reaction from brother  
TC: Youre so motherfucking cute bro  
TC: Are you fucking flushed right now?  
TC: Cheeks all blushing and burning and shit  
TC: What are they be doing at?  
TC: Are they touching at each other?  
TC: How are they motherfucking touching each other?  
TC: Having sloppy makeouts?  
TC: Are you fucking blushing while reading this?  
TC: Hmmmmm?  
TC: Being all cute and shit?  
TC: You feeling hot yet Karbro? TC: You being at all flustered and shit?  
TC: Well guess what my Invertbrother?  
TC: what with that youre not going at worrying about Karbro  
TC: but if a brother needs help, well  
TC: I'd be happy at lending a pail  
TC: Opps  
TC: I meant hand  
TC: ;o)

* * *

 

You came four times.

Needless to say, you're flustered and you _are_ burning hot.

You are sprawled out on your floor, the juices from your nook making the floor slicking, and the force of your orgasms leaving you weak and beyond exhausted in a chair that was so slippery that it caused you to fall out of it onto the floor.

Your chest is heaving, your entire lower half, every crevice and cranny, along with your chair and carpeted floor, are completely soaked with your material.

At this point, even you can admit that it is borderline disgusting that you would practically fill a pail if a stranger so much as winked at you.

But, you  _do_ feel better now. The strain, the pain from your body lightening, in a way, before being replaced, double-fold, with lust and even  _more_ heat.

You moan, and crawl back over to your computer as best you can, slipping and falling in your genetic material. Your muscles are still weak from your multiple orgasms, so it's harder for you to scramble to your feet, combined with the slickness of the floor and chair.

You have multiple bruises, by the time you finally manage to get back into your chair, and you've managed to get material all over your chest, arms, and face, but you do, after many failed attempts, manage to get back into the chair.

You swallow nervously, mentally bracing yourself. Your cheeks are flushed as you turn back to the screen, anticipating more of....You swallow thickly. Just more of..... **that.**

But, you find yourself disappointed, for  the-the _words_ from before were gone, replaced by more...casual writing.


	5. The Heat Is Fucking With Your Thinkpan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:**   Rating still might go up; explict? Moirail with benefits type thing?  Maybe.  I'll just let you all know that I intend for them to still be moirails, by the end of this?

TC: HeY bRo  
TC: WhAt aRe yOu aLl mOtHeRfUcKiNg Up aNd dOiNg?  
TC: WAtChIng oNe oF tHoSe rOmcOmS oF yOuR's?  
TC: HmMmM?  
TC: :o)  
TC: HmM, bRo?  
TC: BrOoOoO?  
TC: AnYtRolLl tHeReEeEe?  
TC: BrOoOoOoOoOoOoO?  
TC: BrO  
TC: BrOoOoOoO  
TC: :o(  
TC: ARe yOu tHeRe?  
TC: I bEt yOu'Re cRyInG aNd bEiNg aLl aNgRy aNd sHiT rIgHt nOw, hUh, KArBrO?  
TC: DiD sOmeEtHiNg hApPeN iN tHe mOvIe?  
TC: WaNnA tAlK aBoUt It?  
TC: CaUsE yOu kNoW I'm HeRe tO hElP a bRoThEr oUt aNd sHiT  
TC: If He, lIkE, nEeDs It aNd ShIt tHoUgH  
TC: :o)  
TC: HEy?  
TC: WaNnA kNow sOmEtHiNg bRo?  
TC: LIkE hOnEsTlY?  
TC: I jUsT kInD oF wAnT tO tAlK tO a mOtHeRfUcKeR aNd sHiT  
TC: :o)  
TC: DOnE mIsSeD mY cUtEr tHaN aLl mOtHeRfUcK MoRaIl  
TC: :o)  
TC: :0D  
TC: :oP  
TC: BrO?  
TC: HeY  
TC: BrO  
TC: YoU oN?  
TC: :o(  
TC: BrOoOoOoOoOoOo

* * *

God fucking damn it, of fucking _course_ , it just had to be your imagination!

You bite your lip and mentally admit to yourself that you were just that far gone by now, that you were imagining that your own damn _moirail_ was talking dirty to you.  _Holy fucking shit_ do you need to get a pailing partner.

You sigh, tears pricking the back of your eyes in frustration, and, like always, especially when you have to deal with other people's shit, convert the massive sexual frustration and pain you are feeling into the only other emotion it can substitute at a time like this.

Anger.

They say there is a fine line between strong emotions such as lust and anger, after all.

It's almost funny, you think, seeing as how someone who was in heat five/six of the sweeps would usually be weak and timid and begging and desperate.

You, however? 

You shove all of it behind another, slightly stronger, emotion.  You hide it and pretend it is not there, that is, until you're behind closed doors again.

You mask your turmoil, your struggle, baring it alone.

It was just easier this way.  It was just easier to put up a front and pretend nothing was wrong.  That you, on top of worrying about being culled for your blood color, had to worry about hiding your damn heat from the other's as well. Any type of pailing would lead to the discovery of your blood, and that couldn't happen.

Sometimes, if you try hard enough, if you can make the anger overwhelm to heat and exhaustion, you can convince even yourself that you were just a normal, if fiery and hot-tempered, troll; that there was nothing to hide; but that wasn't the case.

It was just easier to suffer in silence.

 _Just like the rest of your lineage_ , you thought fleetingly.  
_Just like them, to suffer eternally was your fate._  
_Just like your ancestor, you thought bitterly._

Taking a deep breath, you wipe your eyes, close your legs a little bit, wince as a jolt of white-hot pain travels your spine, and withdraw your hands from below your waist. You return shaking hands to the keyboard, and you respond.


	6. Pretend That Nothings Is Wrong, As Well As You Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Okay, so I've and I am re-going over this and tweaking it all lot. Fixing up grammar and plot holes and smoothing things out.
> 
>  **A/N of 8/31/15:** Fixing it up more, again. Lol. Check back for a treat! Treat: colored text! XD I'm so excited!
> 
>  **A/N 9/27/15:** Revised this **a smidgen**.  
>  The nonsense below is coding for me:  
> (  
> TC   
> IS IDLE.)  
> TEXT HERE  
> 

CG: DO YOU NOT HAVE A FUCKING LIFE?  
CG: NO, WAIT! DON'T ANSWER THAT!  
CG: OF COURSE YOU DON'T, WHY ELSE WOULD YOU BE BUGGING ME ALL NIGHT FOR?  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"  
TC: HeY bRo  
CG: AGGRRRRRRRRR!  
CG: YOUR WAY OF TYPING IS SO IRREVERSIBLY STUPID THAT YOU SHOULD JUST FUCKING QUIT IT RIGHT NOW  
CG: HOW DID YOU EVEN COME UP WITH SOMETHING SO FRUSTRATINGLY STUPID  
 TC: SoRrY bRo.  
TC: :o(  
 TC: ThIs JuSt FeElS mOrE cOmFoTaBle, YoU kNoW?  
CG: NO, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, BUT THAT IS BESIDES THE POINT.  
CG: I KNOW THAT YOU DID NOT CONTACT ME TO TALK ABOUT ROM-COMS (HOWEVER AWESOME THEY ARE.), SO SPIT IT OUT.  
TC: SpIt WhAt OuT, bRo?  
CG: WHAT YOU FUCKING TROLLED ME FOR, YOU MORON!  
TC: OhHhHhH TC:  ThAt'S rIgHt  
CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD. I KNOW YOU CAN'T SEE IT, BUT I AM DOING THE LARGEST FUCKING FACE PALM OF ALL TIME. HOW CAN YOU BE THAT STUPID?!  
CG: HOWEVER, THAT IS DESPITE THE POINT.  
CG: WHAT IS IT, YOU STEAMING PILE OF HOOFBEAST SHIT?  
TC: I jUsT wAntEd To TaLk To My BeSt FrIeNd, Is AlL.  
TC: :o)  
TC: Honk.

* * *

  
You facepalm again and sigh to yourself, your moirail is such a goofball, and even though you're paler for him than any other moirail  _could_ be -not that you'd ever say that out loud- you just can't deal with his or anybody else's shit right now.

Just as you think that, your bulge gives another painful twinge, and you wince, before moaning and going limp in your chair, another wave of heat hitting you.

Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!  
Ding!

You moan again, cheeks flushing, as you remember the text your mind had came up with.

God, that had been so....The original was meant to be pale, and yet, the one your mind had come up with was so _pail...._

You groan, blushing bright red just thinking about it.

Fuck that had been hot.

You've never had anyone help you with your heat before.

No one to spare you a little pity and help you with your heat, making the fire in your lions dim down a bit.

_~~(But, that text…was from your moirail.)~~ _

You lick your lips, and your fingers unconsciously go back to the keyboard, fingers re-clicking the mouse to start a new comment without your full conscious consent.

While typing the new message, your eyes are locked on the screen, glazed over, yet reading whatever it was your moirail had sent you.


	7. Speeding Down The Road "You Have Royally Fucked Up; How The Hell Are You Going To Get Out Of This One?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore the nonsense below it's just coding for me lol:  
> (TC IS IDLE.)  
>  TEXT HERE   
> 

TC: So, BrO?  
TC: Do YoU?  
TC: yOu KnOw, HaVe SoMeThInG YoU wAnT tO tAlK aBoUt?  
TC: 'CaUsE, i'M aLl EaRs.  
TC: LiKe, AnYtHiNg, BrO?  
TC: EVeN iF iT's jUsT tAlKiN' 'bOuT yOuR RoM-CoMs….  
TC: Like, mOtHeRfuCkInG PlEaSe, bRo?  
(TC  IS IDLE.)  
TC: I jUsT….  
TC: ReAlLy nEeD tO tAlK tO mY mOtHeRfUcKiNg mOiRaIl rIgHt nOw.  
TC: HoNk.  
TC: :o(

* * *

Your finger pauses, about to send the message, and you're suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt, and your eyes tear up.

You start to sniffle, feeling your eyes water as you blink furiously to keep from crying, and bite your lip to keep from making any sounds. It doesn't work, though, and you full out bawl and slam your head forward onto the keyboard.

God, you're such a fucking emotional reck.

Ding!

_Message has been sent._

Shit!

You whip your head up and almost knock your computer off the desk when doing so.

You finger scramble to catch it, and then go about setting it back up and checking the wires, unintentionally taking longer because you're trying to hurry.

You finally get it all set up, and, if you thought you were emotional and on edge before, you're a fucking sack of crazed emotions now.

Your fingers, your arms -hell, your whole body- were shaking so badly that you kept messing up the letters, but, you still hurried and sent anything you could before your moirail most likely broke up with you and you never saw him again.

You mean, shit, who talks like  _ **that**_ to their _**moirail**_?! It was unforgivable.

Fuck, you wish that you could go back in time and just cull your past self and save you all of this trouble.

Fuck  
Fuck  
_Fuck_  
**Fuck**  
_**Fuck**_!

You actually managed to _**fill**_  a quadrant -and a _stable_ one, at that- and you just  **have** to go and _fuck it up_ , now don't you.

God, you really hate yourself.

You re-read over what you sent, and start crying even harder, because you just know that, after reading what you sent, he's going to break up with you.

Hell, maybe he's not even going to officially break up with you.

Maybe he'll just never talk to you again. ( _ ~~Hell you wouldn't talk to yourself again either.)~~_

After all, it's been six minutes, and you haven't even got one of his stupid clown smiley or frowny faces.

* * *

CG:  YOU'RE WILLING TO TALK ABOUT ANYTHING?  
CG:  WELL…THATS CONVENIENT.  
CG:  YOU SEE GAMZEE, I'VE BEEN FEELING A LITTLE…FRUSTRATED LATELY. CG:  WELL…NOT JUST LATELY.  
CG:  I'VE ALWAYS FELT LIKE THIS SINCE MY FIRST HEAT.  
CG:  *RUT.  
CG:  IT BORDER LINES PAINFUL.  
CG:  I NEVER SEEM TO BE ABLE TO MAKE IT GO AWAY.  
CG:  THE PAIN AND HEAT, I MEAN.  
CG:  NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I ORGASM OR FILL A PAIL, IT ALWAYS HURTS.  
CG:  I GET SO FRUSTRATED AND ANGRY AND UPSET AND I JUST FEEL LIKE BREAKING DOWN SOME TIMES.  
CG:  IT'S JUST SO LONELY, YOU KNOW?  
CG:  I DONT THINK ITD BE SO BAD IF I COULD FIND SOMEBODY WHO COULD AT LEAST PAILEXT (Sext) ME. CG:  BUT I CANT.  
CG:  NOT MANY PEOPLE ARE INTERESTED IN IT.  
CG:  THEN AGAIN, THERES ONLY A HANDFUL MORE TROLLS OUTSIDE OF OUR FRIENDS ON THIS DAMN PLANET.  
CG:  I JUST FEEL SO LONELY, YOU KNOW?  
CG:  ISOLATED OVER HERE, ALL ALONE, NOBODY AROUND FOR MILES....  
CG:  NOBODY AROUND TO HELP ME WITH...CERTAIN ISSUES.  
CG:  SO, I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THEM, ALL BY MYSELF.  
CG:  AND, YOU KNOW, IT JUST DOESN'T...WORK!  
CG:  IT MAKES ME SO PISSED I COULD SPIT NAILS.  
CG:  IT'S JUST NOT SATISFYING ENOUGH, YOU KNOW?  
CG:  THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HAVING A BULGE UP YOUR NOOK AND...DOING IT YOURSELF.  
CG:  IT MIGHT JUST BE ME BUT I CAN NEVER REALLY REACH JUST THAT SPOT BY MYSELF, YOU KNOW?  
CG:  I'VE TRIED A FEW THINGS. A LOT OF THEM WERE TOYS; VIBRATORS A COUPLE WRITING UTENSILS....  
CG:  BUT, SADLY, THEY JUST WOULDN'T FIT. OR THEY WOULDN'T HELP, YOU KNOW?  
CG:  MY LITTLE GUY ISN'T MUCH HELP EITHER. HE WON'T EITHER FIT OR HELP THE HEAT GO AWAY.  
CG:  I WANT TO TRY USING MY FINGERS SOON…BUT, I'M A LITTLE SCARED TO.  
CG:  OF COURSE I'L CLIP THEM. MY NAILS, I MEAN.  
CG:  THE LAST THING I NEED IS MORE PAIN FROM MY NOOK.  
CG:  HMMM...BUT...MAYBE THE PAIN WILL GET ME OFF?  
CG:  I'M STILL NOT SURE THOUGH.  
CG:  THE IDEA STILL MAKES ME UNEASY.  
CG:  WHAT IF EVEN THAT DOESNT WORK?  
CG:  WILL NOTHING FIT INTO AND SATISFY MY NOOK?  
CG:  IT'S TOO BAD THAT I DON'T HAVE ANYONE OR ANYTHING TO HELP ME WITH IT....  
CG:  GOD, WHAT I WOULD DO TO HAVE A PAILING PARTNER.  
CG:  WHAT I WOULD TO HAVE MUSCULAR BODY TO COVER MINE, PRESSING ME DOWN INTO THE MATING PLATFORM.  
CG:  WHAT I WOULD DO TO HAVE A LONG, THICK BULGE TO PLAY WITH MINE.  
CG:  BUT, UNFORTUNATELY, I DON'T HAVE ANY OF THOSE THINGS....  
CG:  BUT, YOU KNOW WHAT? I FEEL LESS...FRUSTRATED TALKING TO YOU LIKE THIS.  
CG: I GUESS IT JUST FEELS GOOD TO TALK ABOUT THIS TO SOMEONE, AND GET IT OFF MY CHEST.  
CG:  AND YET...AT THE SAME TIME, I FEEL EVEN MORE FRUSTRATED, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT....  
CG:  I JUST TEND TO GET EASILY AROUSED, EVEN BY SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS TALKING ABOUT MASTURBATING.  
CG:  YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?

* * *

CG:  HRY, GAMZEE? DIBN'T PAY. ATTENTION TO HTE LATS MESSFAE, OK?  
CG:  THAT WAS NOT-  
CG:  I HADN'T MENT TO SEND THAT.  
CG:  TO YGU, I MEEN.  
CG:  UMM, JIST, YEEH.  
CG:  SRRY.  
CG:  I JDUST.  
CG:  I'M SO STORRY  
CG:  I can unfstahd ih ybu waht ho breaj uk wikh me.  
CG:  I'M SORRY. RHEALLY RAHRLLY SORRY.  
CG:  <>

( TC  IS IDLE.)

* * *

You're shaking and crying so much, so hard at the end of the message.

You're heart is wrenching; it feels shattered.

But, you still can't help but cling to the hope that he had fallen asleep or spaced our or just hadn't read your previous message.

  ~~ _(Please, please, please, **please** just let that be it!)_~~

You would attempt to delete the message, but you can't convince yourself to do anything but curl up into a miserable ball. _~~(He's probably read it anyway.)~~_

You fall asleep with your head lolling against your shoulder. Your whole body shying away from the computer as if **_it_** was the one to commit a tremendous crime.


	8. Karkat: Shatter And Pick Up The Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping It:  
> I've grown a little...exasperated with this story. I just feel like I've written Karkat all wrong.  
> I'm at the point of quitting the story.  
> I still have a few chapters as drafts for this story, so I figure I'll post them anywho.  
> I might eventually take the story down.  
> Maybe I'll eventually get it to a point where I can hault it. Any open ending or something.  
> Anyway, this story is still under construction. I might eventually just rewrite the entire thing.  
> I don't fucking know; so capricious with this one I am.

He doesn't message you back.

Not one, single, solitary message.

He does log onto your account. ~~_(You didn't think the high idiot remembered your password after all the times you had to remind him what it was.)_~~

There was nothing; no notifications, no screwy logs, your chat color was still gray, and your name remained unchanged. ~~_(The imbecile would change your color to his from time to time. Some kind of possessive instinct that came over him sometimes, you guess. That and the fact that the idiot probably forgot to change his color back to yours after he was done trolling whoever he was trolling on your account.)_~~

Now here you are a whole week -seven long, damn days- but he doesn't contact or message you. You've received nothing from him.

Even while high as shit, that fucking clown would still at least bother you with his usual spill once or twice a week.

It has been a **week** now, and you...you think it is safe to assume that you are single in your pale quadrant again.

You had re-typed the message you had sent before; this time the lettering was a little less sloppy, but it was still partly illegible.

~~_(Considering the quirks of your friends, you don't think it was that hard to read. So why the hell hasn't that bastard trolled you back yet?)_ ~~

~~~~You'd struggled with the realization that your relationship was most likely over. Every time the possibility rose in your mind that past week, you'd always made an excuse. He was high, he went sober, the sopor-sucking tweaker just didn't know what the hell was going on _period_ , he fucking _forgot your dumb ass message oh fucking **please** -._

There was still no response.

Your eyes water, and your clench your teeth together, but a sniffle still escapes.

You're lying on your pile on your side, trying to muffle the sounds of your quiet sobbing into one of your huge, over-whelming sweatshirts. Your face is buried in your sleeves and the neck of your sweatshirt is pulled up over your head, the shirt being tucked over your horns to keep it from sliding back down. You're currently just riding the waves of heat and depression, not even having the will to try and control them, to fight them, anymore.

When the heat got to be to much, you had shoved the closest thing to you up your nook and left it there. You didn't care that you had spent a pretty penny on a certain toy wrapped up in a gift box under your mating platform. You didn't care that you had been patiently waiting for an opportunity like this -when you just couldn't handle it anymore- to use it. A certain toy that you had had bought because it was hand crafted and small enough to -hopefully- not hurt you, but be thick enough to fill you up.

Not the one with certain, uh,  _features_ to it....

You feel hot just thinking about it, but thinking about anything relating to pailing reminds you of what a complete and utter disgusting idiot you had been and still are, so you go back to being miserable, with a writing stick shoved up your nook.

Your stomach growls, and that reminds you; you haven't eaten anything in the past couple of days or so.

Before the...incident, you had simply been distracted by your heat.

Now; you just can't muster up the appetite.

Anything relating to food disgusts you. Even if you eat nothing, it still makes you want to throw it back up.

Honestly, you haven't even moved from the pile, much, the last few days; there doesn't seems to be a reason to.

A few of your friends have trolled you, and you replied to a few automatically, basically telling them to fuck off and ranting about nonsense so they would think that everything was alright, that everything was normal. ~~_(It was a pathetic attempt at pretending to be fine, because it wasn't; everything was far from fine, and you know that they know that you're not okay, but you just pray that they'll let it blow over.)_~~

You rhythmically take baths at least once a day, or once every two days.

Yes, yes, you know; you should wash more with the copious amounts of genetic material and sweat covering you, but, unlike before when you were just too exhausted or wound up to take a shower; now you just can't make yourself get up, or care.

You know that you'll have to get your shit together soon.

The last thing you need is one of your friends catching on, figuring out about said break up and telling you that you're acting like a two sweep old, which would inevitably happen anyway, because they have surely already caught on, and it's only a matter of time. Besides, you would never tell them about your ridiculous heat and the message or even the break up itself. It's been ingrained in you to never put yourself in danger, to avoid it as much as possible, and that's what you were currently doing.

Presently, however?

For the next few days, you'll let yourself grieve and scream and just deal with your heat until your senseless with it, mind drifting and hazy. You'll let yourself deal with what others would probably call insanity if they were watching. In reality, you're expressing your inner turmoil.

You weep, you scream, you orgasm when you fucking can. Your appetite has completely abandoned you, and you have trouble convincing yourself to eat much of anything. You accidently scratch yourself; raking your hands through your hair, your nails dragging across soft flesh and causing red to bead on to the surface. You just can't muster the strength to even stand  under the stream of water, so you just sit under the fall of spray until you muster the care to drag yourself out of the tub. You take all your frustration, anger, sorrow, helplessness, lust, and grief out on yourself. Just for those few days.

Needless to say, by the end of that week, you feel lighter, maybe not noticeably, but you feel as if somebody's scoped out a couple of pounds of flesh and replaced them with blow-up balloons. You're paler, skin a lackluster grey, with dark circles under your eyes. You look almost as dead as you feel. The cherry on the cake was your sore nook; it was so swollen and bruised that it caused you to wince when sitting down.

In the end, you still pull yourself together; you straighten your back and hold your head high, clean and take care of yourself and your hive, and hide behind the now comfortable mask of anger once more.


	9. Karkat: Deal With Your Possible Breakup?

You lean forward on the chair as it wobbles, and you reach for the jar of grub sauce. You pull it down, and set it on the counter. You shut the cabinet and carefully climb down from the chair you had stood on to reach the cabinet. You feel like throwing up anything that you haven't already spewed out of your protein chute, but you still pull the grubloaf over to you. Automatically, you slap some sauce on a slice of bread, before forcing yourself to take a huge bite, just smashing your jaws together, not really tasting or enjoying the food, just chewing.

You just had another "shower", which mainly consisted of you standing under the showerhead for an unmeasured amount of time.

It has been a week -and now two days- since you heard any reply from Gamzee.

You...You want to send another message. To...affirm the break-up, you guess, but you just can't.

You just can't bring yourself to do it.

 _God_ , you're just so tired of all this shit.

You just want a break.

You just _need_   _a break._

You...need some time away from this. _~~What can you do to take your mind off this?~~_

You start automatically listing things in your head: rom-coms, sickle training, cleaning out the food storing device, ext, ext. Everything you could come up with all ended in the same train of thought: ~~_sex equals pailing which equals the message that you sent Gamzee which equals the breakup-._~~

You think you'll send the message anyway.

You have to; you won't be able to move on until you know for sure.

With a heavy heart, you set off to your room, dragging your feet and procrastinating.

"Oh", you mutter, "I forgot to take out the trash."

You go through each room, collecting the trash and tying the plastic bags, before taking them outside and putting them into the trash bin.

When you return inside, you hesitate before heading back to your room.

You stall again, foot on the floor of the second floor, before heading back down the stairs, to the kitchen.

You approach the sink, and feel your heart sink a little, when you realize that there are only a few dishes in it. Which is ridiculous, because you're……you're not procrastinating...you just...you just....

You do the dishes and stop that train of thought.

After the dishes, you put down the dish rag, fidgeting and jumpy.

You suddenly turn, dropping to your knees and opening the cabinets under the sink, grabbing a sponge and disinfectant.

You then proceed to scrub every surface you can in the house, room after room.

When you finally finish, you are in your room again, without any more excuses to put it off.

You...You're so nervous, you feel sick. You think you might throw up.

You'd started crying again, subconsciously.

You don't want to do this. You really don't. You just want everything to be okay. Why can't everything be okay?

Your knees give out from nerves, collapsing beneath you like jelly. After a few seconds of recollecting yourself, you crawl over to your husktop, legs still weak.

After you manage to climb into your chair, you boot up the husktop.

While waiting for the husktop to load, you put your head down on your arms, breathing in and out; trying to calm your nerves.

All too soon, your husktop is done loading, and you quickly log on. Thankfully you at least feel the slightest bit better, so that was something you guess.

You log on to trollian, and then search for the people that are online.

Your heart stops, and you almost puke when you see that terminallyCapricious is online.

It takes you almost thirty minutes to calm down enough to regulate your breathing again. When you finally do -before you can start thinking about what you are about to do again, thusly panicking all over again- your hands drift over and snag the mouse, pressing the cursor over his troll handle.

With shaking hands, and stupidly watering eyes, you start up a chat with your  ~~most likely ex~~ moirail.

* * *

**\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC] \--**

**( TC is idle)**

>CG: HEY, NOOKWHIFF!  
CG: ARE YOU THERE, OR ARE YOU JUST TOO FUCKING STONED OFF YOUR FUCKING SHITTY CLOWN ASS TO ANSWER ME?!  
CG: GAMZEE?  
CG: SERIOUSLY, GAMZEE, WE NEED TO TALK.  
CG: I KNOW YOU'RE THERE NOOKSUCKER, PICK UP.  
TC: Hey  
TC: BRO

* * *

Your fingers freeze over the ~~keyboard.~~ Now that you've gotten an actual response, you don't know what to do -or say for that matter.

Your heart races, beating against your ribs, and you vaguely realize that he's changed his way of typing.

Your brain having taken a hike, you ignore that and type back a response.  ~~ _(Why the hell is he typing like that?)_~~

* * *

CG: HELLO YOU BULGE FESTERING EXCUSE FOR A TROLL. WHAT FUCKASSERY ARE YOU DOING? WAIT! I DON'T EVEN WANT TO KNOW.  
TC: aw haven't i been doing much of up at anything, bro  
TC: HONK.  
CG: YES, YES, HONK, YOURE A FUCKING CLOWN, I GOT THAT ALREADY!  
TC: Honk  
CG: AHRRRR!  
TC: :o)  
CG: ASDFGHJKL;!  
TC: Honk  
CG: AGGRRRRR!  
TC: :oD  
CG: OH MY GOG! HOLD THE ASS FUCKARY UP FOR A SECOND! NO MORE! STOP THIS COMPLETELY IDIOTIC EXCHANGE OF MORONIC BLATHERING!  
CG: LOOK, BULGESUCKER.  
CG: LET'S JUST...LET'S JUST CUT ALL OF THIS AWKWARD SHIT, OKAY? WE NEED TO FUCKING TALK. SO...LET'S JUST...LET'S JUST FUCKING TALK.

* * *

Your whole body is trembling; small tremors running along your arms and legs and torso. You are suddenly crying again; silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

( _ ~~Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!)~~_

You _hate_ your hormones. You hate having such dramatic mood swings. You hate the fucking shitty situation you are in. You just feel suffocated and you want anything bothering you to fuck off far, far away.

* * *

CG: I JUST...I JUST CANNOT TAKE THIS, OKAY?!  
CG: I...I HAVE ENOUGH SHIT I NEED OR HAVE TO DEAL WITH!  
CG: I...I DONT FUCKING NEED THIS STUPID FUCKASSERY OF AN AKWARD SITUATION WITH MY MOIRAIL, OKAY?!  
TC: bro  
CG: I MADE A MISTAKE BULGEBITER!!  
CG: I KNOW THAT, OKAY?!?  
TC: BROTHER  
CG: I KNOW I FUCKED UP BEYOND THE ASTRONOMIC GALAXY OF FUCKED UP VOMIT-INDUCING ASS-SHITTING LUMPSQUIRTS AND ALL THEIR PUSSY HORRID FUCK UPS!  
TC: brother  
CG: I CANT HELP IT!  
TC: IT IS  
CG: JUST FUCKING GET OVER IT ALREADY!!  
TC: okay  
CG: FUCK YOU! I CANT DEAL WITH THIS!  
TC: MOTHER FUCKING  
CG: JUST FUCKING DEAL WITH IT!  
CG: WHY THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING TYPING LIKE THAT.  
TC: brother let me get a mother fucking word in  
CG: WHAT EVEN HAPPENED TO YOUR USUAL CLOWN ASS SHITTY BULGEFUCKERY  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT DON'T FUCKING ANSWER THAT  
CG: I DON'T EVEN GIVE A FUCK  
TC: CALM DOWN  
CG: STOP FUCKING BADGERING ME!  
TC: just motherfucking shoosh, its  
CG: I KNOW I'M A FUCK UP, OKAY?!  
TC: BRO IT'S MOTHERFUCKING OKAY  
CG: I UNDERSTAND THAT!  
TC: bro just wait i  
CG: I KNOW DAMN WELLYOU JUST BROKE UP WITH ME ALREADY YOU BUGLEFUCKING BASTARDOF RETAREDFUCKING CLOWNIHATEYOU SOMICHIHATEYOUIHATEYOUADHSGDNDDKRBRHFBF!

**( CG is idle.)**

* * *

Your chest is heaving. You feel like you've just run a fucking marathon. You're freaking out so much that -despite the desperate urge you have to shut down the husktop and throw it into the bottom of a lake- it's all you can do to just _breathe_.

You think you've heard someone -probably your luscus- describe this feeling before. What was it?

Panic? No. Hyperventilation? You think that was it. You think this is that.

Oh _fuck_ you just can't get in enough _air_.

 ** Ding! **  
** Ding!  
Ding!**

You can't even look at the fucking husktop.

( ~~ _Fuck_~~. _~~Fuckfuck **fuckfuck**~~.)_

~~_He broke up with you he already fucking broke up with you you are never going to be the same he is going to he already broke up with you fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!_ ~~

Your hands grip your hair, and you tug on the strands, a noise -not quiet a whine and not quiet a groan- slips past your lips.  A few strands of hair are pulled loose and come out clumped in your claws.

God, you just cannot fucking _deal with this!_

"…Dude!  Brother, are you okay? Brother! Mother fucking look at me!"


	10. Gamzee: Enlighten Us To What The Fuck You've Been Doing

_~~Well, you were about to fucking work about getting yourself at that. Didn't need no mysterious disembodied voice getting its boss on at you.~~ _

You sit at your computer screen, kind of zoning out and surfing the waves of your thoughts.

You stopped digging in the hole about three weeks ago; quit that unmiraculous addiction to slime most poisonous.  

Your thinkpan's been all over the place; and so have you. 'Temples been aching something most fearsome, pain pounding the inside of your skull and making your stomach twist in knots, prompting whatever morsels you'd managed to half digest to come crawling back up your protein chute. 

Three weeks what have been past all have been a blur, as they have right to be. You ain't won't at wanting to remember too much of that shit.

But somehow you'd managed to do it; by yourself. Managed to mostly cure yourself of that green toxin.

Thrown all of that shit out. Packed it away in your sylladex and then dumped it down the ablution trap. Right down that fucking drain.

Filth what as is most unwanted swirled, sucked down and away and out of your motherfucking hive.

Good thing it was too. Most as you wanted to be clean, the urge done got it's claws up in you at times, tempting you as is most unholy for it's miracle cloud of high.

But you stayed strong. Refused that lusty motherfucker time and time again. You think your moirail'd be proud.

Speaking of the shouty motherfucker, you hadn't responded at him since round 'bouts a week or a half ago? You were a little fucked up with time.

You should probably get on at responding the salty brother. He'd probably worked him on up in knots over nothing again.

You've got your understanding on at why though. Poor brother sending out embarrassing messages as on when the heat done grabbed hold of his thinkpan and made on at him things he'd find most unmirthful.

Your heart pounds when you think about the lusty grey text that filled your screen, and you wipe the salacious memory away. Your cheeks heat and you feel a pang of disgust at your own motherfucking self. ~~_("What if he meant it?" floating across your mind.)_~~

You know that three weeks ago -it now being two and a half weeks after you had went sober- you wouldn't have been bothered the least bit by your pale bro's message.

Nah. You'd be higher than the fucking messiahs off your clown-ass to care about it. At all.

But fuck if now you couldn't as get the thought battered out of your thinkpan. 

_What your bro had said...._

Your bro had said some... _wickednasty_ things in that message.

You'd been staring at the screen, the glow of the monitor the only light you could stand having in the room, light burning at your eyes something super salty like. You'd felt mainly confused and startled and _flattered_ what as at first wise, but before you could get at feeling any negative motherfuckers crawling out the back out your blood-pusher, your bro had sent another message.

The lettering was shaky and your bro's wording even seemed to be sloppy.

Which won't as be fucking right. Your moirail's words should've been big and loud and long down the page, shoutiest words as what fill up the monitor and that you have to scroll and motherfucking scroll as is what is to read all.

Feelings as is what as be different from few weeks ago still curled up and blossomed in you rib cage, making your heart race and your gut clench, emotions and mind-quadrant-train all over the fucked place.

Ever since you've gone sober, you've started as to have different views on of at your friends.

All your lower spectrum brother and sisters were suddenly demeaned in your eyes; their say and worth dropping in your eyes.

You had to fight not to talk at them no differently. Get your speak on at them, all easy like, like you used to. All smooth and no harsh on at stepping on toes.

You struggled with the thoughts that creeped across the corners of your mind about your moirail, all kinds of nasty shit as what likes to get its whisper on at in your ears as is to torment you. Things about his gray text, and his shouty text, and the way he talks at you. You'd struggled with them, pushing them back and away, not wanting them to mess at with your image of your pale bro, not after what it'd done to the view you'd had of your friends. _~~You couldn't bare if it messed with the precious stardust words and feeling you'd had at with your miracle. Not on at like it'd dug and torn asunder your words and memories at your friends.~~  _

_('He's a low blood,' your mind whispers gleefully, 'he has to be! What other troll wouldn't proudly wear their blood color? He's not worth the trouble! Just cull him and be done with it!')_

Hell, when your blueblooded bro talks at with you -like you're some kind of God- instead of at making at what uncomfortable is like it used to, you feel fucking proud and righteous. _~~("At least one of those low-blooded scum know there place," your mind snickers.)~~_

The thoughts'd tortured you, haunting you in sleep and out, and you couldn't take all this fucking stress. You went on at struggling by, but you needed your fucking moirail. You'd been done gone by the fucking husktop anyhow when you'd got the idea the talk at with him, and so you'd reached over and grabbed the fucking portable top and plopped the motherfucker in your lap. 

You'd just gone at had your hopes up that your pale bro'd be in enough of a good mood to keep the shouty saltiness to a low, when you'd gone at logging in and clicking on at his name. 

_~~(The voice, of course, disagreed, with the train of thought. 'The low blood should consider it an honor for you to so much as LOOK at the motherfucker, much less spill your secrets to him!')~~ _

You done shook away at the thought, considered that a bad idea when your temples throbbed like a motherfucker, and then you'd trolled a brother with a grimace of pain until he finally answered.

Everything was going on as what is fine, even as though your brother was pissed off as usual.  That was fine; you were far past used to it by now, in fact, sometimes it was even really cute when your pale bro got all angry and shit.

And that's when a lusty message as had no right as to have been seen by your peepstalks and not your moirail's matesprit pestered out across your screen:

CG: YOU'RE WILLING TO TALK ABOUT ANYTHING?  
CG: WELL…THATS CONVENIENT.  
CG: YOU SEE GAMZEE, I'VE BEEN FEELING A LITTLE…FRUSTRATED LATELY. CG: WELL…NOT JUST LATELY.  
CG: I'VE ALWAYS FELT LIKE THIS SINCE MY FIRST HEAT.  
CG: *RUT.  
CG: IT BORDER LINES PAINFUL.  
CG: I NEVER SEEM TO BE ABLE TO MAKE IT GO AWAY.  
CG: THE PAIN AND HEAT, I MEAN.  
CG: NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I ORGASM OR FILL A PAIL, IT ALWAYS HURTS.  
CG: I GET SO FRUSTRATED AND ANGRY AND UPSET AND I JUST FEEL LIKE BREAKING DOWN SOME TIMES.

CG: IT'S JUST SO LONELY, YOU KNOW?  
CG: I DONT THINK ITD BE SO BAD IF I COULD FIND SOMEBODY WHO COULD AT LEAST PAILEXT (Sext) ME. CG: BUT I CANT.  
CG: NOT MANY PEOPLE ARE INTERESTED IN IT.  
CG: THEN AGAIN, THERES ONLY A HANDFUL MORE TROLLS OUT SIDE OF OUR FRIENDS ON THIS DAMN PLANET.  
CG: I JUST FEEL SO LONELY, YOU KNOW?  
CG: ISOLATED OVER HERE, ALL ALONE, NOBODY AROUND FOR MILES....  
CG: NOBODY AROUND TO HELP ME WITH…CERTAIN ISSUES.  
CG: SO, I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THEM, ALL BY MYSELF.

CG: AND, YOU KNOW, IT JUST DOESN'T …WORK!  
CG: IT MAKES ME SO PISSED I COULD SPIT NAILS.  
CG: IT'S JUST NOT SATISFYING ENOUGH, YOU KNOW?  
CG: THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HAVING A BULGE UP YOUR NOOK AND…UH...DOING IT YOURSELF.  
CG: IT MIGHT JUST BE ME BUT I CAN NEVER REALLY REACH JUST THAT SPOT BY MYSELF, YOU KNOW?  
CG: I'VE TRIED A FEW THINGS. A LOT OF THEM WERE TOYS; VIBRATORS A COUPLE WRITING UTENSILS….  
CG: BUT, SADLY, THEY JUST WOULDN'T FIT. OR THEY WOULDN'T HELP, YOU KNOW?  
CG: MY LITTLE GUY ISN'T MUCH HELP EITHER. HE WON'T EITHER FIT OR HELP THE HEAT GO AWAY.  
CG: I WANT TO TRY USING MY FINGERS SOON…BUT, I'M A LITTLE SCARED TO.  
CG: OF COURSE I'L CLIP THEM. MY NAILS, I MEAN.  
CG: THE LAST THING I NEED IS MORE PAIN FROM MY NOOK.  
CG: HMMM…BUT…MAYBE THE PAIN WILL GET ME OFF?  
CG: I'M STILL NOT SURE THOUGH.  
CG: THE IDEA STILL MAKES ME UNEASY.

CG: WHAT IF EVEN THAT DOESNT WORK?  
CG: WILL NOTHING FIT INTO AND SATISFY MY NOOK?  
CG: IT'S TOO BAD THAT I DON'T HAVE ANYONE OR ANYTHING TO HELP ME WITH IT….  
CG: GOD, WHAT I WOULD DO TO HAVE A PAILING PARTNER.  
CG: WHAT I WOULD TO HAVE MUSCULAR BODY TO COVER MINE, PRESSING ME DOWN INTO THE MATING PLATFORM.  
CG: WHAT I WOULD DO TO HAVE A LONG, THICK BULGE TO PLAY WITH MINE.  
CG: YEAH, BUT, UNFORTUNATELY, I DON'T HAVE ANY OF THOSE THINGS….  
CG: BUT, YOU KNOW WHAT? I FEEL LESS…FRUSTRATED TALKING TO YOU LIKE THIS. I GUESS IT JUST FEELS GOOD TO TALK ABOUT THIS TO SOMEONE, AND GET IT OFF MY CHEST.  
CG: AND YET…AT THE SAME TIME, I FEEL EVEN MORE FRUSTRATED, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.…  
CG: I JUST TEND TO GET EASILY AROUSED, EVEN BY SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS TALKING ABOUT MASTURBATING.  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?

* * *

 

You remember the most burning of heat filling your cheeks, and at times like these you were glad your facepaint won't as is translucent or some shit.  Hide the purple creeping across your face as is all scandalous like.

You'd reckoned as is at what your brother on being in heat, as is obvious, and so you tried to keep our fucking pump-biscuit disciplined and shit. Your moirail'd no doubt flip his shit later over shit as torment on at his thinkpan relentlessly. You'd be there for him at what to comfort and console him.

Later. 

At the moment the added stress of contradictory feelings and trying to be the mature and comforting troll figured been as what is too much for you to fucking handle, having thoughts and feelings all clawing up as is what to get outside you, making you feel like you'd up chuck again. You'd done shut the tap, letting the chat idle. Your bro'd still be able to get on at you what he'd need to get out, and you'd read it all later, even if it's something he'd rather keep on at himself, all embarrassment like. 

You'd put the thing aside and curled up for a nap.

You'd slept the rest of the night away.

....

 

You'd had a rough number after waking up. You were just thrown off balance for the rest of the week, the cravings hitting on at you real harsh-like, You didn't want to bother at your brother while you were in this state, him having to deal with his own complicated shit as it was. You were sure he didn't as need at you complaining about your wanton taste at things most poisonous at him while he's jerking his bulge at his own mating urges.

You done at got the notion to finally check up with the chat later on down by the weekend. You'd done read at that motherfucker, as you'd done made at the promise to yourself to, and your heart ached for your poor little motherfucker. He'd done gone and been torturing at himself like you'd thought he would.

* * *

CG: HRY, GAMZEE? DIBN'T PAY. ATTENTION TO HTE LATS MESSFAE, OK?  
CG: THAT WAS NOT-  
CG: I HADN'T MENT TO SEND THAT.  
CG: TO YGU, I MEEN.  
CG: UMM, JIST, YEEH.  
CG: SRRY.  
CG: I JDUST.  
CG: I'M SO STORRY  
CG: I can understand if ybu waht ho breaj up wikh me.  
CG: I'M SORRY  
. RHEALLY RAHRLLY SORRY.  
CG: <>

* * *

CG: HEY, GAMZEE? DIDN'T PAY. ATTENTION TO HTE LATS MESSFAE, OK?  
CG: THAT WAS NOT-.  
CG: I HADN'T MENT TO SEND THAT.  
CG: TO YOU, I MEAN.  
CG: UMM, JUST, YAEH.  
CG: SRRY.  
CG: I JSUT.  
CG: I'M SO SRORY  
CG: I CAN UNDRESTNAD IF YUO WNAT TO BAERKUP WTIH ME  
CG: I'M SORRY REALLY REALLY SORRY.  
CG: <>

* * *

You were still all kinds of fucked up though, so you thought it best to let it mellow until you could wrestle your mental faculties into something more as what resembled order. 

It'd taken a while until you were able to hash out the correct mental train for you to follow, all mellow and ease like as is what appropriate, feeling all guilty as hell that it'd taken you so fucking long to respond to him.

Seems your moirail done and gone worked himself up to the point of the misconceived notion that you'd done broke up with him, though it won't nothing like that.

You were too deep affectionate on at that motherfucker to let him go.

You'd gone at replying to the grey text filling your screen up as it should be, all more rational thinking and thought process, less heat-clouded judgement.

Your moirail seemed to grow more and more distressed and you could barely get one word typed in before he spewed more blasphemous stuff about a break up as it wasn't true at you.

You still don't know what to think or feel. What is a troll supposed to do in a situation like this?

Out of any other motherfucking ideas, you turned on the webcam. Maybe you'd be able to get at his attention and calm him the motherfuck down, all face-to-face-like.

 

....

 

"Huh-huh? G-Gamzee? Wha-wha-?" He hiccupped.

"Hey, motherfucker. Don't know if you read it or not, but I mother fucking said I was gonna open the video chat box."


	11. Notice Chapter

Hey, Y'all,

First off: I'm thinking of taking down this story.

It's just so...bad, plot wise. Like it's just cringe worthy to me, at least. 

I just feel I can do much better than this.

Like I look at this and the self-pity and shit just seeps out of it and I'm like "why?!"

I dunno. I'm debating on taking it down.

If I do take it down, I might not post it again. If I post another "Karkat in heat story" then hopefully it'll be much better. (That sounds so much more appealing to me.) [I'm imagining another story already, lols.]

 

If I do take it down:

Sorry if I do take it down. I know there are some readers that actually enjoy this story and I'm contrite to let them down. I just...gosh. Like this story is just a little too embarrassing. 

I still have fondness for it, as I believe it was like my third story, but I just feel like I've progressed so much, and the self-pitying feel of Karkat's character, the way I wrote him in this, is just so awful.

_~~Like he can be a bit...yeah...in cannon, but not the way I've written him.~~ _

 

But just...thanks so much to all of you who've read and commented and liked this story. It made/makes me really happy.

 

If I don't:

.....

I'm leaning more towards "take it down".

But there's still a part of me that's determined to revise it to something I can stand. But, oh jeez......

I just don't think that's possible. Like it would pretty much be stripping a house down to the foundation.

I just don't wanna do that. It would be different if it were a case of changing a few sentences, but it's just Karkat in this.

I just can't stand it.

 

 

Yeah....I'm leaning to take it down.

 

Again, I'm very, very contrite. 

I would tell you guys were this was going, but, it's not like I had a huge plot thing filled out. I was just "in the moment" writing pretty much.

I do know that I'd planned for Karkat not to get a response from Gamzee for a while. Mainly because Gamzee had been working on getting clean. Like from sopor. In this they are on Alternia, and Gamzee missed his sopor supply for about a week, and became sober enough to make the decision to get off sopor. So he takes a while to reply to Karkat.

Mostly, I think things would've been a bit awkward -how could they not- but they'd grow over it and become more intimate. (Like pale wise, I believe.)

 

**NOTICE:**

 

Hi, I'm the co-author that took up this story for JANDS, who is an old friend of mine. At this point I'm just gonna fix the story up a bit for them and work on the two chapters that they have left. This story will most likely end up being abandoned. Possibly taken down as well. 

We apologize to all that enjoyed the story, but we both agree that it's just.....JANDS is too stressed out with finishing the story, so we've just settled that I'll take it, revise it a bit, and work on publishing the two chapters that he had in draft. 

Thank you for your support and patience. Sorry to those we've let down.

 

 **5/26/17:** ****I finished posting the last chapter that JANDS had in draft. We're done with this story. It's been abandoned. Maybe, possibly it the future one of us might right an open-ending for it, maybe an ending cliffhanger of some sort, but as of right now we are done with the story. We apologize again to all the liked and read the story and wished to see it go further.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking this story up for an old friend of mine (JANDS, AKA BleedingJoyAndSorrow).  
> I'll try to clean it up and post the few drafts that they have left.  
> We apologize for the story most likely going to be ending abandoned. We hope to at least leave it open ended. Or maybe a cliff hanger? Leave it up to all of you guys' imagination?


End file.
